


Baby, You're the Bomb Dot Com

by WaterMe



Series: The SpideyPool Holiday Special [6]
Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: (now I gotta write something real to fit that tag huh), (through transitive property), 4th of July shenanigans, Ass to Mouth, Banned Together Bingo 2020, Blowjobs, Chaotic Switches Peter Parker and Wade Wilson, Daddy Dom Deadpool, Featuring actual sugarcoated gays, Food Sex, Humiliation, Inexperience kink, M/M, Spideypool Bingo 2020, Submissive Peter Parker, Sugarcoated Gay Story, The Thrilling Adventures of Captain Bi-Merica and Bider-Man, We Do The Weird Stuff, daddypool, little Peter’s growing up :’), mild age play, more of a mention really, popsicles go places, that’s it that’s the fic, wait they’re Bis don’t erase them, “it’s the third tho”
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25038751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaterMe/pseuds/WaterMe
Summary: Wade found Peter in the kitchen poured out against the counter, lips wrapped obscenely around a red, white and blue Rocket Pop. “Happy Fourth of July, Daddy,” he said, and Wade’s heart stopped for a second.Wade, being the epitome of seduction, stuttered out, “It’s, uh, it’s the third.”
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Series: The SpideyPool Holiday Special [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1705225
Comments: 31
Kudos: 163
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020, Isn't it Bromantic?, Spideypool Bingo 2020 Round 2





	Baby, You're the Bomb Dot Com

**Author's Note:**

> OneBrokeWitch made me **art** and I'm **dying,** [go check it out and give it some love!!!](https://twitter.com/onebrokewitchy/status/1280693804476108800?s=19)
> 
> Prompt fill for Spideypool Bingo 2020, 'Daddy Kink'  
> Prompt fill for Banned Together Bingo, 'Sugarcoated Gay Story'
> 
> Age play is briefly mentioned, but in this one, Peter seems to be experimenting with Daddy Kink without aging down (or at least, not nearly as far). I'd call it "barely legal" play at worst.
> 
> As always, this can be read as a stand-alone. However, you might enjoy: "[Butter Me Up, Batter Me Down](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25037383)" which is a dominant Peter/submissive Wade companion piece to this one. And "[Bare Feet Dancing Down the Hall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24941308/chapters/60366670)" which gets _juicy-_ deep into their ageplay/daddy-kink dynamic (it's a longer read, but I'm really heckin' proud of it!).
> 
> As a side note, I swear to heck Frisky Business is next on my to-do list, because the world needs Kitten Peter. I just got hella distracted by this unexpectedly inspirational midsummer holiday season.
> 
> (Largely unbeta'd, but cheer read by the usual suspects. Thank you for enabling me <3 )

Wade found Peter in the kitchen poured out against the counter, lips wrapped obscenely around a red, white and blue Rocket Pop. “Happy Fourth of July, Daddy,” he said, and Wade’s heart stopped for a second.

Wade, being the epitome of seduction, stuttered out, “It’s, uh, it’s the third.”

“I know,” said Peter, sucking on his Bomb Pop (tee em). “But Mayor Jameson asked for a few Avengers to make an appearance at the parade tomorrow, and at first I was like, wow, no, not it, I'd literally rather grand marshal the Latverian Day parade than do that jerk a favor. But then Cap suggested that he and I go, but suit up in the Bi Pride variants. And Hawkeye’s gonna come, too! In the obnoxious purple uniform. And all three of us are gonna get just a _teeny, tiny_ bit too handsy with each other.”

He beamed. Butter wouldn’t melt in that boy’s mouth. 

Wade said a brief prayer that baby boy and his dumbshit friends had done enough good deeds to get into heaven, because Pepper Potts was going to _murder them all._

There were worse ways to become a widow.

“Anyway,” Peter drawled. “I have a three day weekend, Daddy. Today you’ve got me _all_ to yourself.”

He was wearing a pair of obscenely short denim cut-offs that Wade didn’t even know he _owned,_ and an honest-to-god white _crop top_ that made a man wanna make moose noises. Wade swallowed hard.

“How old are you, darlin’?” he managed to rasp out.

Wade immediately regretted the question when a brief look of confusion crossed Peter’s face and he pouted that perfect red mouth. Then Peter’s expression cleared and he looked Wade in the eye. “Complicated. Does it matter? If it bothers you we don’t have to—”

“I want to!” cut in Wade. “I really, really want to. Uh. What is it I want to do, again?”

Peter stalked around the counter, rocket pop dangling from his fingers. He backed Wade up against the doorjamb before dropping smoothly to his knees.

“You were just so patient about teaching me last time, Daddy. I was hoping you might teach me a little bit more?” He slid the popsicle back into his mouth. It bulged obscenely through his cheek.

Wade’s mouth went dry as he choked out, “Looks like you know what you’re doing already, baby,” but he was already rushing to pull out a _very_ interested Deadpool, Junior. 

“Must be natural talent, Daddy,” Peter deadpanned, blinking innocently up through long eyelashes. He opened his mouth and stuck out a bright red tongue, the tip just fading to blueish purple.

Wade got a little dizzy with it.

Peter’s big, gorgeous eyes followed every movement as Wade pulled out his cock and gave it a few (largely unnecessary (and unnecessarily large) ) strokes. He rubbed the head against Peter’s tongue, and _cold,_ it was cold on his hot skin, but after the initial shock it was _really_ fucking nice. He slapped Peter’s chilly little mouth with his dick a couple of times, just because it was there and he could.

Fuck. Okay. This was happening.

He stared down at Peter.

After a long moment, Peter said pointedly, “I don’t know what to do next, Daddy.”

Wade was going to pass out. He was going to literally lose consciousness. This blowjob was going to actually kill him.

He didn’t say any of this. What he said, was: “Just like that Bomb Pop, baby boy,” and then he couldn’t say much because Peter’s cool lips were wrapping around the tip, teasing the skin bunched under the head, licking long strokes up the underside. “Fuck,” he moaned. “Yeah, that’s it, lick down the sides, _fuck,_ yeah, suck that rocket, baby.”

This day was going _super-duper well,_ if anyone were to ask. Like, say, the neighbors. He peeked out the kitchen window, wondering if they should have closed the blinds. It was fine. If Mr. Jones’ knowing smiles in the laundry room were anything to go by, he was pretty into it.

Wade wondered briefly if it was weird to get off on thinking about his balding, 50-year-old geography teacher neighbor watching with binoculars while his little lolita of a twunk sucked him off with a rocket pop rapidly melting all over his daisy dukes, and decided that, yes, 

Yes, it was a little weird to get off thinking about a melting popsicle.

Didn’t mean he wasn’t going to, though.

His train of thought was abruptly derailed by cool, sticky fingers exploring somewhere he had _not_ been expecting. He jolted. 

“B-baby boy… where you going with those?”

Peter pulled off his cock and blinked up at him, face the picture of innocence. He took the chance while his mouth was free to take a long, suggestive suck off his popsicle. “It just felt so nice when you taught me how, Daddy,” he said. “I thought you might like it, too.” 

His little fingers stroked _very_ confidently along Wade’s taint. Wade’s head hit the wall behind him.

“Do you?” Peter asked.

“Wh-what?” asked Wade.

“Do you like it, Daddy?” Peter sucked the head of Wade’s cock back into his mouth, eyes still caught on Wade’s. His mouth was so fucking cold, and his fingers so clever, and Wade could see his other hand multitasking as it held a melty popsicle and worked frantically at the front of his crime-scene of a pair of jean shorts all at the same time.

“Yeah, yeah, I like it,” Wade said, and he was glad that Peter’s mouth was still a little cool because—between the tight, clever mouth that suddenly sank all the way down his cock, and the tips of Peter’s fingers dipping in where the sun don’t shine, and the sight of that hand working amid a rapidly growing puddle—he was suddenly in imminent danger of firing off too early. “Fuck, baby, switch hands? I like those fingers nice and chilly.”

Peter got a look in his eye at the exact same time Wade got a thought in his head. He stared wide-eyed at Peter. Peter raised a challenging eyebrow.

“Yeah,” said Wade. “Yeah, okay, fuck, do it,” and honestly it wasn’t like this would even be the worst thing that had happened to his asshole this week. 

He clenched his eyes as Peter pulled his pants the rest of the way off his hips. No way out but through. Like dipping a toe into a cold river, you just gotta jump in (or, in this case, have your bambi-eyed faux-incestuous sexfriend give you a big shove). Peter’s little hands were nudging his legs just a little further apart, and then— 

“Sweet igloo-humping _snowholes,_ that’s fucking _cold.”_

The rocket pop slid between his cheeks like it was designed for it. Exactly the same shape as a classic vibe, Wade thought, dazed. Were these really marketed at _children?_ He fumbled to tangle his fingers tight in Peter’s hair, thrusting hard down his baby’s throat to the tune of a gratifyingly startled gulp. _Fuck_ it was cold, and Peter’s mouth was so hot, and thrusting between the two sensations was pretty much the best thing since maple syrup.

As the ice slid across his fluttering, clenching asshole, he had the sudden horrific thought of what it would feel like _inside,_ pressed against delicate tissues. If Peter were to just get a little braver, to bat his eyes and change his angle, get Daddy distracted and then give things a little _push—_

Wade almost shot off in Peter’s sweet, sticky mouth at the thought.

He yanked Peter off his dick with a pop.

“That’s enough, baby boy,” he wheezed. Peter carefully pulled the remains of the popsicle off of Wade’s poor, iced up asshole. Was this how Cap had felt? No wonder he was such a tight-ass, it was probably still literally frozen.

Peter sat back on his heels and looked up expectantly. He was still rubbing himself through his shorts, and his lips were delightfully swollen.

“Suck it, baby,” Wade said, then _tsked_ as Peter went for his cock. “Ah-ah. You’re making a mess.”

Peter looked at the sticky mess melting over his hand, and then back to Wade, betrayed. “But Daddy, it was…”

“Somewhere your mouth was two hours ago? Suck. It.”

Peter’s lips actually _wobbled,_ and was that a real _tear?_ And okay, yeah, _complicated,_ because he wasn’t exactly little, but he sure wasn't his usual sexually confident self, either. He looked plaintively up at Wade, lashes wet, as he shakingly brought the bomb pop to his mouth. His hand moved at a glacial pace, like he thought if he looked sad enough Wade might let him off the hook.

Wade slowly and deliberately placed his foot square on the front of Peter’s shorts.

Peter gave a little gasp and his eyes fluttered shut and he sucked that popsicle right into his mouth.

“Fuck,” said Wade, taking himself in hand. “Fuck, open your eyes, look at Daddy," and oh my _god,_ those eyes, those mistrustful little eyes, and the movement of those plump lips still stretched around that ice pop. Mission Control, we are comin' in _hot._

“Tongue out,” he rasped, “mouth open, tongue out,” and Peter scrambled to obey, popsicle going to its final resting place on the kitchen floor (and _fuck,_ this is why they had ants, this bullshit right here).

Peter tipped his little head back and stretched his tongue out obscenely. He’d worked most of the way down the popsicle and his lips and face and the tip of his tongue were all stained blue, fading to bright cherry red at the back of his throat. Wade’s hand moved lightning fast and his vision got a little fuzzy around the edges, and then he was groaning as he laid a white stripe right down the middle of that perfect field of red and blue.

Wade sucked in air like a dying man, jerking his cock until it was almost-but-not-quite too much and every last drop of come was drained out of his balls and splashed on Peter’s pathetic, pleading face. Peter whined, and his hips thrust in sad little jolts up into Wade’s foot.

“Don’t swallow,” Wade gasped. “Keep that sloppy mouth open. Show Daddy what you did. You gonna come? You gonna come for Daddy like this?”

Peter thrust up pathetically. He moaned in garbled little whines, a rhythm of short, sharp, “eeeh,” sounds, and it took Wade a second to get it but then he threw back his head and laughed.

“Boys who don’t ask don’t get to come,” he taunted. “You know better, Petey.”

Peter’s sounds were frantic, eyes desperate, and he just looked so perfect, all sticky and debauched. Wade ground his foot hard against Peter’s crotch.

“Come, you fuckin' dumb mess.”

Peter _wailed_ through his mouthful of Wade's come, a gurgling, distorted sound that Wade wished he had recorded (which meant they had to do this at _least_ one more time). He squeezed his eyes shut, only to snap them back open to meet Wade’s as his hips jerked and fluttered under Wade's punishing foot. Mmm. _Such_ a good boy.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Peter made a sad, questioning sound.

“Yeah,” said Wade. “Yeah, swallow, good boy.”

And Peter swallowed, and the first words out of that sticky mouth were a strained, “Thank you, Daddy,” and Wade’s knees did go out from under him, then.

The kitchen was a sticky mess, Peter was a sticky mess, and Wade, well, Wade was starting to feel very uncomfortable in a certain area, in particular.

Hmm.

“Hey, baby boy?”

“Uh-huh, Daddy?”

“How about if Daddy teaches you how to lick something else?”

**Author's Note:**

> Peter: "I mean, being little isn’t the only bottoming I do with you. Why haven’t we—?"  
> Wade: “Even the author doesn’t know that, baby boy. She keeps meaning to write you getting wrecked some other way and then… Daddy stuff, you know?”  
>  _daddy stuff, tho_
> 
> [This art is exactly what happened later that afternoon,](https://twitter.com/mikazure/status/1260660407133327360) and no one can convince me differently.


End file.
